With Heaving Chests and Bated Breath

After the Battle of New York, the team scattered. They saw Thor and Loki off to Asgard and then, Tony and Bruce retreated to the Stark Tower to do science, Clint and Natasha disappeared to grieve Agent Coulson in peace, and Steve? Well, he took off in his bright new motorcycle to… well. Onward.

In the beginning, he reasoned that he was trying to find himself, to find a place where to belong in this new world that was loud, fast, and had far too few familiar faces. He gave himself permission to drive without a plan and see where it landed him, just drive without a destination in mind. 

”Take a vacation, Rogers,” Fury had grumbled and left with his usual dramatic flare of his leather jacket before Steve had had the chance to say he didn’t really know how to do that.

But he tried.

He found a lot of empty roads and people who at heart weren’t that different from the people he’d left behind when he’d flown the Valkyrie into the sea. He helped one family to repair their fence and another family to change a flat tire on the road, shared a cold beer in silence with a one-armed Vietnam veteran, and burned his ’smores on a campfire by an unnamed riverside.  But as nice as mindless driving around the countryside was, it got pretty lonely pretty soon. So, after a couple of months, he turned his bike around, headed back to New York, and didn’t stop until he was at the base of that big and ugly building. The huge letters of STARK were gone and only the massive letter A remained.

Steve felt like it could do with seven more letters.

He startled when a stocky man in a black suit tapped him on the shoulder.

”Mr. Stark said you can take the side entrance,” he said. ”Or at least you should move from the front unless you want to attract an audience.”

”Oh, right,” Steve said. ”Sorry.”

The man shrugged. ”No worries. Mr. Stark just felt like attracting an audience might not be your thing.” He deftly escorted Steve to said side door. ”Name’s Happy, by the way.”

”Steve. Steve Rogers,” Steve said, offering his hand.

”Yeah. I kinda knew that,” Happy said, somber, but his eyes held an amused twinkle.

”Right,” Steve said again, feeling slightly stupid. Of course Happy would know who Steve was—Tony had sent him to collect Steve from his front door, gawking like an idiot.

After showing Steve where he could store his bike, Happy escorted him to a nondescript elevator away from the main lobby. It wasn’t what Steve had expected from Tony—for some reason he thought Tony’s style would’ve been more along the lines of excessive, obnoxious, and in-the-face. 

As soon as the thought entered his mind, he felt sheepish. Never mind the first impressions, Tony’s stunt with the nuclear head had made it clear just how far Tony was willing to go to protect innocent lives.

”Welcome to the Avengers Tower, Captain Rogers,” a disembodied voice said, interrupting his musings. 

”Thank you,” Steve answered, raising a brow. ”And you are?”

”My name is JARVIS. I am an artificial intelligence unit, designed and built by Tony Stark. I run the tower.”

”And the Boss,” Happy chimed in.

”If needed, I provide the necessary inspiration to keep Sir in good health,” JARVIS responded smoothly. 

Steve was pretty sure there was something more than that going on but before he had the chance to wonder more, a clear rectangle appeared on the wall right next to him.

”Please press your hand against the lit surface, Captain,” JARVIS said. 

He did, and absolutely nothing happened.

”Thank you. Your handprint is now stored in my databanks.”

”…For what?”

”For identification if the need arises.”

”Do you need a voice sample too? A password?”

He heard a soft, mechanical whir that sounded, oddly enough, amused and approving at the same time.

”That won’t be necessary, Captain. I recorded your voice pattern when you entered the elevator as well as performed a superficial scan. But thank you for the offer.”

Steve blinked and raised a brow at Happy who just gave him a ’What can you do?’ sort of a shrug.

Steve would later learn that it would turn out to be a quite apt reaction to anything concerning Tony Stark.

One by one, the rest of the team filtered back. It was odd, at first, trying to cohabit with a bunch of people that were either reclusive (Bruce), a paranoid, destructive force especially when hungry (Clint), or downright hostile (Natasha), let alone an eccentric species of his own (Tony). But they managed, one day at a time. Bit by bit, Bruce realized that Tony would rather scorch the Earth than let General Ross get his hands on him, Clint learned the wonder of ceiling vents and how to build food and weapons stashes they all pretended to know nothing about, and Natasha became significantly less hostile when she understood none of them was out to take advantage of her. 

Tony on the other hand…well. He was still an eccentric species of his own, but it was hard to take him seriously after seeing him wander into the kitchen at noon, wearing glittery unicorn slippers with his standard uniform of ratty jeans and a band t-shirt, worshiping his coffee mug like it made him see God. Which, knowing Tony, was probably the case.

The first time Steve walked in on Clint meticulously painting Natasha’s toenails in the common room while she reclined on the couch with a bright yellow facial mask, he paused for a split second before continuing to his preferred spot by the giant windows. From the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha’s eyes following him but when he said nothing, she relaxed. Steve bit his lip to hide his smile, opened his sketchbook, and got to work.

When he looked up, and indeterminate time later, Natasha was reclining against Clint’s chest with her hair full of rollers. Bruce was hunched over his notes on the loveseat next to the couch and on the other side of the room was Tony, curled up in his favorite armchair, deeply engrossed in his work on his hologram of…something that had too many angles and gave Steve a headache.

The scene tugged something deep in Steve’s chest and he had to just breathe for a moment. Sure, they were a group of wildly dangerous individuals who all had issues upon a ton of other issues, but as the weeks had turned into months, Steve realized he had a home and an absolutely crazy family. 

And he loved it.

”—that’s not how it goes and you know it!” 

Steve heard Tony’s indignant voice when he stepped out of the elevator and made his way into the communal kitchen. After his morning run, he was feeling pretty good, and he really hoped Tony’s indignation had more to do with him trying to avoid yet another board meeting than anything serious.

”Tony, that doesn’t even make any sense,” Bruce said, sounding all-suffering as usual, giving Steve an ’I don’t know why is this my life’ look when he entered.

”Ha! Steve!” Tony crowed, triumphant.

”Good morning, Tony, Bruce,” he said, edging around them. Tony had a slightly maniacal gleam in his eyes which usually was a sign to steer clear and try to make him consume something else than just plain caffeine.

”So, tell me,” Tony said. ”Which would be hotter, a vampire or a werewolf?”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it because—what?

Tony waved his hand in a wide arc, almost hitting him in the nose. ”See, Bruce was being a bore and said that basically, they’re both anatomically impossible because how does a vampire even work and the werewolf transformation isn’t practical because, clothes, or whatever. Which, may I remind you, is an odd comment coming from a man who turns into a bright green rage monster on a semi-regular occasion. And you also lose your pants every single time, I know, I’ve seen your junk.”

”I just want breakfast,” Steve tried.

”Why are we discussing mythical beings usually seen in books targeted for teenage girls?” Bruce asked, ignoring the comment about his junk.

Tony wiggled his fingers dismissively, keeping his focus on Steve. ”I need to know,” he said slowly. ”Vampires. Or. Werewolves.”

”Uh,” Steve said.

”Vampires,” Natasha said from behind Tony, smirking when he yelped.

”See, I knew you’d say that. You are biased. You’ve watched the Underworld series at least twelve times, right, J?”

”Thirteen,” JARVIS added helpfully.

Natasha shrugged. ”What can I say? Kate Beckinsale is hot.”

Tony paused with his mouth open and his eyes went slightly glassy. 

Natasha snorted and walked around him to make tea. ”So, what is this debate even about?” She asked as she poured steaming water into her cup. ”Tony?”

Tony startled and shook his head slightly. ”Sorry, what?”

”Vampires and werewolves. Why do you need to know?”

Something in Tony’s eyes went shifty. ”It’s…for a project.”

”Really?” She said, somehow making that one word sound like a threat.

Tony started to squirm slightly under Natasha’s scrutiny. Steve decided he wanted to help and said, ”Werewolves.”

Tony’s eyes snapped into him. ”Ohh…” he breathed. ”Yeah. Okay,” he said and then practically ran out.

Unsure of what had happened, Steve frowned and then started rummaging the fridge for eggs and bacon. When he turned, he met Natasha’s amused eyes under a raised brow.

”What?” 

”Nothing,” she said demurely and took a sip of her tea. ”I’ll take cheese with my omelet, thank you.”

And because ’I wasn’t actually cooking for you’ wasn’t an answer one gave to Natasha if one wanted to keep on existing in this world, Steve made sure her omelet was extra fluffy. Just like she wanted.

One of the things Steve really loved about the modern age, was the easy access to information. He’d always been a kind of a nerd (”Shocker!” Tony would’ve said), and the chance to learn everything about, well, anything was something he thoroughly enjoyed. Especially during the nights when he was having a hard time sleeping, when his bed felt too cold and his room too big, he loved the fact that he could just grab a StarkPad and immerse himself in something new. So far, he’d read all about the global warming, the breakthroughs in modern medicine on everything he’d had to be afraid of as a kid, a British boy band named One Direction that had disturbingly devoted fans, and about the art of macramé. 

He didn’t question where the small macramé starter kit came from a couple of days after his YouTube binge, too fascinated by the way a series of knots created intricate patterns. It didn’t take him long to ask JARVIS to add macramé to his regular art supply order. 

And, of course, he learned all about Stonewall and the LGBTIA+ rights. It was a huge relief—not because there hadn’t been queer people back when he was a kid but because it was finally deemed normal. Well, Steve had always felt that part of himself was normal and Erskine’s serum only added to that certainty. After all, it was supposed to correct what was wrong with him, and since he’d always been more attracted to the personality than genitals…well. 

Not that he’d had many chances to act on his attraction. First, he’d been too small and sickly, then the war had happened. During wartime, men had found comfort and touch wherever they could but that couldn’t actually be called dating because a hurried blowjob before running to potential death does not a relationship make. 

And things weren’t that different now. Apparently, the Battle of New York had been some kind of a ’freak signal’ (like Clint had dubbed it), helpfully informing everyone that supervillains were an a-okay thing now, because, the Avengers. Especially now that the team was back together again. They didn’t get called out so often that they’d completely exhaust themselves but often enough that it felt like an actual job. Being on a team of superheroes meant odd hours and jumping from one danger to the other, which put a significant strain on a relationship (cue: Pepper and Tony).

It didn’t stop Natasha from trying to set him up, though. 

”How about Helena? She’s the black-haired agent who wrapped up the Tanzanian case last week,” she asked at the gym. Steve ducked her roundhouse kick and politely refused.

”You know, Jonathan from the accounting is single,” she said one morning while sipping her orange juice.

”Is he now?” Steve said mildly, not even slowing down with the onion chopping.

It only got worse from there.

In the middle of a fight, ”Meredith likes bondage.”

”Tara and Norah are twins…if you’re into that,” lying on the couch while Clint massaged her feet.

”I heard Irma likes them young,” interrupting a debriefing and earning a glare from Fury.

In the medbay: ”Ivan has had a crush on you ever since they thawed you,” earning a squeak from poor Ivan who was cleaning up a deep gash on her upper arm.

And so on and so forth.

As entertaining as it was, it was getting pretty old pretty fast. Steve wondered if she would stop if he said yes as a joke but then decided against it. Not only would it be cruel to his date, it would also be potentially harmful to Steve himself because Natasha didn’t like being made fun of.

Besides, he just…didn’t feel like it? That was all.

At the same time as Steve made observations of what his teammates were, he also noticed what they were not.

Thor wasn’t as clueless as he pretended to be, Clint wasn’t as relaxed in his nests as his callsign hinted, Bruce wasn’t nearly as responsible with his experiments as he claimed to be, and Natasha wasn’t actually as terrifying as her blank glares let on, but she hid her softer side well. 

And Tony? Usually, Tony wasn’t into books. Steve knew that Tony read, a lot. He usually had several articles pending, an open research tab logged somewhere in JARVIS, and he could concentrate on his StarkPad practically wherever. But seeing him with an actual bound and printed book was a novelty. 

No, that sounded mean—it wasn’t like Steve thought Tony was above reading, but usually his mind worked sixteen different tracks at a time. But every now and then, Tony seemed to be rather engrossed in his book, completely oblivious to his surroundings, curling around it like it was something precious. Sometimes he huffed or muttered softly under his breath, sometimes he rolled his eyes. Sometimes Steve swore he even blushed. 

Not that Steve was looking. 

Much.

Thing was, Tony Stark was fascinating and his deaf-to-the-world reading habits offered Steve the perfect opportunity to observe him in peace. Not only was he there, he was also still which was as close to a miracle as it could get. So far, the only times Steve had seen Tony so still had been either when he was so drunk he’d passed out (something that was rare nowadays, to Steve’s relief) or when he was in a situation that required Tony staying still to save a teammate’s life.

So, Steve jumped the chance to look. He tracked Tony’s face, followed the line of his chin to his jaw and tried to calculate the angles Tony would need to shave to maintain his goatee. His fingers itched for a piece of charcoal so that he could sketch the bent lines of Tony’s back and the way his hands gripped the book.

Steve had a sinking feeling he hadn’t even brushed the depths of his fascination yet. 

…Aaand he also realized that if Bucky was here, he’d laugh his ass off before slapping Steve around the ears and telling him to man up and talk to Tony already.

Steve let out a wistful sigh and then ducked his head when he saw Natasha raise a brow. He wasn’t sure why he bothered because, during the past several weeks, she’d toned down her mission to pair Steve with whomever she had interactions with. It could only mean that she knew about Steve’s crush. Because that’s what it was. He had a crush on Tony.

And why wouldn’t he? Everyone had a crush on Tony because, despite his brash appearance, Tony was a selfless, generous, and deeply emotional man who was ready to bend over backward to accommodate his teammates. Tony was beautiful, full of life, a genius, and so out of Steve’s league it wasn’t even sad. 

After their rocky start, they’d slowly turned from acquaintances to teammates to friends, and even if they never became anything more, Steve would be happy just as Tony’s friend. 

Yes, he would be. He’d make sure of it.

”What happened to your werewolf project?” Steve asked one day after he handed Tony a fresh cup of coffee.

Tony promptly choked on it and ended up coughing until he had tears in his eyes. ”What?” He wheezed when he finally managed to breathe again.

”Your werewolf project,” Steve repeated. ”Months ago, you asked me which was hotter, werewolves or vampires. You said it was for a project.”

Tony opened his mouth and then closed it, blinked, and opened his mouth again. ”It’s still a WIP.” When Steve raised his brows, Tony hastily added, ”A work in progress. Unfinished. Under construction. Coming along nicely. Getting there—”

”Yes, thank you,” Steve interrupted. ”What’s it about?”

Tony’s eyes went comically wide and took an almost panicky sheen. ”It’s…ah…creative. A creative process. Unfinished project that’s creative…I need more coffee.”

”You could almost say it’s a transformative work?” Natasha murmured from behind Steve which startled him enough so that he almost missed how Tony’s face took a sickly green hue and he scurried out of the kitchen like chased.

”What was that?” Steve asked, confused.

”Oh, Steve,” Natasha sighed fondly and kissed his cheek before snatching his coffee.

He still didn’t understand when she walked out.

It took him some sneaking, but Steve finally managed to get a better look at what Tony was reading. Sometimes it was a classic—like A Hundred Years of Solitude or one of the Dune series (Steve doubted Tony was somewhat unhealthily fascinated by the sandworms) but the books Tony enjoyed most didn’t seem like much; cheap paperbacks with trashy bodice ripper covers. It surprised Steve quite a bit before he berated himself. Why would it matter what Tony read when he had a bit of time for himself? Avenging required a lot from them all and at times Tony had to do some awful fast thinking and engineering to keep the team on the winning side. So what if he enjoyed cheap romance novels? 

In a way, it was a relief. A genius, playboy, billionaire, and philanthropist seemed larger than life (and honestly, Tony was exactly that), but seeing him curled up with a dime store romance novel made him somehow more approachable, more human. 

It also made Steve infinitely more curious. Tony was reading romance and he wanted to know what. So, he decided to find out.

”What are you reading?” He asked one Tuesday as he walked into the common room and saw Tony sitting on the couch.

”Nothing!” Tony yelped, shoving his book behind his back. 

It had been happening more and more lately: Tony was so absorbed in his newest book that he didn’t realize someone came in until that someone (usually Steve) said something, and then he’d hide the book and pretend it was nothing or just flee the room. Steve was itching to get his hands on the book but so far, he hadn’t had much luck. Tony was being even more possessive of this book than the previous ones, never letting it out of his sight.

He shook his head in fond exasperation. ”If it’s nothing, why did you hide it?” 

Tony blinked rapidly, shifted a little, and then showed Steve his empty hands, eyes wide with fake innocence. ”Look! It’s not here!”

Steve gave him a flat stare. ”You’re sitting on it, Tony. What’s so special about it anyway? I don’t care what you read, whether it’s romance or…whatever. It’s just a book!”

Tony let out a strangled sound and opened his mouth but before he had the chance to launch into a tirade, JARVIS cut in.

”Sir, it appears that DUM-E has set fire on the western wall of the workshop,” the AI interrupted in a long-suffering voice. ”Again.” He paused. ”And it’s spreading at a rate that’s rather alarming. And since you confiscated the fire extinguisher and are yet to reconnect the sprinkler system—”

”Oh, hell,” Tony muttered and darted off.

It wasn’t until he’d left that Steve realized Tony’s book was there, innocently forgotten and half-buried in between the couch pillows.

He decided he really shouldn’t read it if Tony didn’t want him to.

…His resolve lasted a whole 4.5 seconds and with a quick glance at the door, he snatched the book.

It was surprisingly light in his hand despite the considerable thickness. It looked well-read and had several telltale creases along the spine, indicating the favorite places Tony had returned to time and again. It opened almost by itself and—  

”Oh! Lord Steyvain!” The other man cried with a heaving chest. He withered under the blond Lord’s eager hands, his chocolate-brown eyes shining with tears of ecstasy.

”My beloved,” the gold-haired Lord growled, consuming the warm skin spread out in front of him. His hardened member throbbed in tune with his heart, yearning for the unmarred depths of the exquisite creature before him. He wanted to claim the brown-haired man for himself, to possess him and make him his own so that no one else would ever dare lay their eyes on him. His lust overwhelmed him and he seized the silken cloth that covered the other man’s lower body, his arms bulging as he ripped the fabric.

”My Lord,” The billionaire gasped, his eyes wide. During his many journeys, he had never encountered passion like this. It was a consuming fire that rose from within him and with it rose his flesh, eagerly reaching out for the muscular blond.

Steve’s eyes bulged and he slammed the book shut, staring wide-eyed at the title The Lusty Billionaire’s Highland Werewolf Lord…only to open it again a short moment later because what the hell? 

The throbbing manhood in his hand pulsed hotly, spilling the thick droplets on the olive skin and the billionaire let out a sweet sound of pure joy. The Lord drank the sight in and then bent down to lap at the honey-warm skin, eagerly consuming the evidence of their activities. The taste drove him further into the throes of his lust.

”Please, my beloved,” he pleaded. ”Please let me have you.”

”Anything,” the dark-eyed man whispered reverently. ”Anything, Steyvain.”

The passion almost overwhelming him, the Werewolf Lord flipped the other man on his stomach and grabbed him from the hips. His beautiful behind hung in front of his eager eyes like a pair of perfectly sculpted orbs, and hidden in between them was the passage to Heaven itself. The golden-haired Lord bent forward to press a kiss on the tanned expanse of skin just above the taint. ”My Anton, you perfect creature,” he murmured, and then he dipped lower, pressed his face against the promise of everything beautiful, and pushed his tongue in—

Steve heard the elevator ding and hastily pushed the book back in between the couch cushions, then almost fell over in his hurry to sit on the armchair opposite the couch like he’d been there all along. He rested his chin to his palm to hide his blush and with his notepad on his lap. And not a moment too soon because Tony barged in, hair in disarray and soot on his cheek, breathing heavily. 

”My book, is it here?” He asked, eyes slightly wild.

”Huh?” Steve uttered with fake confusion, like he only now noticed Tony. 

”My boo—Oh, never mind,” Tony breathed out when he spotted it, snatched his book, and hurried off.

Steve was left sitting in his chair, swallowing around a dry throat and with way too many vivid images in his head.

The realization hit later that night when he was brushing his teeth, getting ready to bed.

A billionaire.

And a werewolf.

Named Steyvain and Anton.

Who sounded a lot like…

Steve dropped his brush and stared at the mirror with unseeing eyes.

…Well, shit.

It wasn’t that Steve wasn’t familiar with raunchy books, or erotica, as they were nowadays called. He just wasn’t prepared for his teammate reading said raunchy books in the middle of the common room, let alone reading raunchy books that had suspiciously familiar sounding main characters. 

Where the hell had Tony found it? And…how?

”Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out,” he muttered to himself and tapped the name on the Google search bar, fervently hoping JARVIS wasn’t recording his activities for Tony.

The author’s site was…a revelation, to say the least. As it turned out, Sabina Hall was a prolific writer with several series in progress, all with similarly inclined titles. Steve raised a brow as he scrolled the page until he reached The Lusty Billionaire series, taking in titles like The Lusty Billionaire And The Spectral Professor, The Lusty Billionaire And The Christmas Lumberjack, The Lusty Billionaire And The Reluctant Botanist, and The Lusty Billionaire And The Secret Librarian. 

When he reached the end of the series, he frowned. There were only 25 published books. 

”That can’t be right,” he huffed, glaring at the wall. His eidetic memory helpfully reminded that the book’s cover had clearly stated it was part 26. And now the stupid site said the series only had 25 parts.

He wasn’t sure why he was feeling slightly offended about the whole thing—it wasn’t his book, after all—so he decided to reach out, writing a polite, short message complimenting the series and asking if the author had any plans for further books.

A couple of days later, he got the answer. 

”Dear Mr. Rogers,

Thank you for reaching out. I’m so glad to hear you’ve been enjoying The Lusty Billionaire series that, as you guessed, was partially inspired by one particular, very well known billionaire. It was a fun series to write and it seems the readers have been enjoying it at least as much as I have.

Sadly, even all good things come to end, so I have decided to discontinue the series. However, as I recently attended a charity auction event, I offered to write one more book, as personalized as the winner wanted. That means that there are 25 published books in this series and one single, private copy of volume 26. 

I have no plans to continue the series, but if you enjoy my writing, please take a look at my other series, like The Saxons or The Sultry Space Adventures.

Best,

Sabina Hall”

It took no time at all for the answer to sink in.

Tony had commissioned that particular book. He’d specifically asked for those characters and that storyline.

And now Steve had to decide what he was going to do about it.

It was frustrating how nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary and yet everything was different. 

First, Steve couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that Tony had requested specific characters and had asked Steve’s input even though Steve hadn’t had a clue back then. He wondered if that muscular werewolf would’ve been a vampire if he’d answered differently to Tony’s question ages ago. Did that mean Tony was interested? Of course, Tony had never been shy about his sexuality, being proudly out as bisexual but he’d never implied anything. Then again, Tony’s playboy image was mostly from before Afghanistan—after Ten Rings, there had been Pepper and then no-one.

Second, Steve was having a hard time shrugging off the mental images the book offered, every possible pun intended. The short glimpse he’d caught had actually been horrible writing but it was the thought that counted. And boy, what a thought it was. Almost every night after sneaking a look at Tony’s book, Steve had vivid dreams of olive skin, a heaving chest, and various throbbing parts. It was like puberty all over again, except that instead of the asthma attacks he had a super-soldier refractory period. Frankly, it wasn’t as fun as it sounded.

Third—

Shit, he was in so much trouble.

Tony didn’t seem any different from before but Steve found that he couldn’t quite behave normally around him anymore. It was like his crush had been amped up to the maximum and everything—whether it was pouring a sleepy Tony his morning coffee or helping him limp into the Quinjet after a fight that left the armor unfit to fly—was stilted. To his relief, Tony didn’t seem to realize any of it but the rest of the team definitely did.

”You really should just talk to him,” Bruce said one day. 

”Huh?” Steve said, distractedly because Tony had just walked past them all sweaty and smudged, ranting at JARVIS about something or another, Steve hadn’t really listened because his attention had been on the way Tony’s damp t-shirt had clung to his skin.

Bruce was sporting the kind of look that clearly said he didn’t want to talk about it but he would because…reasons. ”Ask him out. Please.”

”What he means is just fuck it out already,” Clint grumbled. ”We can’t deal with this UST shit anymore.”

”What?” Steve asked, bewildered.

Natasha shook her head and rolled her eyes heavenwards. ”Bozhe moi, you idiots…” She took a deliberate breath. ”He likes you like that. And you like him like that, a lot. I suggest you do something about it.” She leaned closer and whispered, ”Go get your billionaire, Werewolf Lord.”

Oh, God. Natasha knew. 

”Oh, God. You knew,” Steve breathed.

Her raised brow was all the answer he needed.

For a moment, he entertained the idea of coming up with an elaborate way of asking Tony out but the steely look in Natasha’s eyes made his mind for him. ”I’m gonna go see him now,” he said, slowly backing out of the room.

”You do that,” she said.

”JARVIS, is Tony in—”

”Sir is in his workshop, yes,”  JARVIS said, sounding almost eager.

Steve squinted at the ceiling even though he was well aware that JARVIS didn’t live there, but decided to let it lie. He could try to find out exactly how sneaky the AI actually was later. But now, Tony.

He entered the suspiciously quiet workshop, pausing when he saw Tony staring at a piece of a misshapen shaped metal in his hand with an acidic look that could melt metal. He was so absorbed in…whatever he was doing that he didn’t realize Steve was there until he cleared his throat.

The metal object clattered to the floor when Tony jerked himself up in surprise.

”Steve! What are you—”

”Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

The following silence was bordering awkward and… To hell with it, Steve thought.

”Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Tony opened his mouth but nothing came out. He snapped it shut, blinked a couple of times, and then said, ”Am I awake? J, am I awake right now?”

”According to my calculations, you’ve been awake for approximately 57 hours by now,” JARVIS said.

”Fifty-seven?” Steve asked, bewildered.

Tony waved his hand, almost smacking himself in the face. ”Phhssff, Don’t get your panties in a twist, Cap, I’ve been awake longer. I’m completely capable of—”

”Sir, before Captain Rogers entered, you were about to solder a bonnet on DUM-E,” JARVIS dryly pointed out.

Tony perked up. ”So that’s what this was for,” he said, eagerly picking up the metal object from the floor and only narrowly avoided sliding on the floor. Steve cleared his throat again and he deflated. ”And I’ll continue this…whatever this is tomorrow,” he continued meekly. He turned to set the object on the table next to him and then froze. ”You…you asked me out?”

Steve nodded. ”Yeah, I did.”

”Did Natasha make you do it?”

”No,” Steve gave said, then gave him a sheepish grin and continued, ”I mean, I think she was ready to smack me in the head with that new blini pan of hers if I didn’t man up already.”

”Oh.” He bit his lip nervously and glanced at Steve. ”Do you…I mean, you really want to go on a date with me?” He asked, so shy and soft it made something ache in Steve’s heart.

”Yeah. I really, really do.”

Tony pursed his lips like he was trying to keep himself from smiling and failed. ”Then yeah, good Captain. Blow my mind.”

Steve shook his head. ”I’d like to kiss you instead if that’s alright?” He said fondly.

It was more than alright. 

And it was pretty mind-blowing.

One day, Steve was returning from his morning run when he saw it on the thrift store window: a white shirt with ruffled neck and sleeves. It reminded him a lot of the costumes on Tony’s trashy novel covers and without a second thought, he entered the shop. (As it happened, he didn’t have his wallet with him but the clerk decided to give him the shirt in exchange of a selfie with Captain America.)

Tony was still asleep when Steve returned to the Tower. He stopped for a moment at the foot of the bed, drinking in the sight of Tony starfished in the middle of the bed. They slept together but hadn’t slept together yet. Steve had been worried that Tony was holding himself back for him but Tony had said he was enjoying himself and taking it slow because it felt good, not because of some misguided fear for Steve’s sensibilities.

In fact, Steve’s sensibilities were getting pretty eager to move things along. Hence, the shirt.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and sneaked into the bathroom to take a quick shower. Then, refusing to blush, he poured some massage oil into his hand, warmed it up, and rubbed it on his chest.

”The things we do for love,” he muttered under his breath and sighed. Yeah. So help him, he was in love with Tony and was ready to do absolutely ridiculous things for him. Like dressing up like the male love interest on a bodice ripper cover.

When he was ready, he tiptoed to Tony—not really knowing why because when Tony was out, he was out—sat beside him, and bent down to kiss his cheek.

”Anton, my beloved, wake up.”

”Wha—?”

Steve swallowed and braced himself. ”My Anton, you are a perfect creature. I would love nothing more than to consume you, to mark you mine for all the world to see. I long to press you down and lap at your honey-warm skin and— Please, my beloved, let me have you.”

Tony had pushed himself to sit up and was now staring at Steve with his mouth open, hair sticking out in every direction, and some unnamed emotion rippling across his face. Then he let out a high, breathy sound and immediately slapped his hand across his mouth, eyes wide.

”Did you—”

”Nu-uh!”

”You totally—”

”No, I didn’t—”

”You giggled!”

Tony looked pained. ”Steve, honey… It was just so corny!”

”Oh, thank God,” Steve breathed out, deflating out of sheer relief. ”I don’t think I could’ve continued further.”

”Wait,” Tony said, his eyes going even wider. ”Was that—?”

”Yes?”

”Oh my God,” Tony groaned, burying his face in his hands. ”I can’t believe you read that? When? How? Why?”

”If I’m honest, I only read a couple of paragraphs, something about throbbing manhoods and heaving chests.”

”That doesn’t actually narrow it down at all,” Tony pointed out, still embarrassed. ”That book is filled with really, really badly written porn.”

”I think it’s the thought that counts,” Steve said. ”And I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

The mortified look on Tony’s face gave way to something warm and inviting. ”You have, haven’t you?” He purred. ”Well then…” 

Slowly, he leaned closer to kiss Steve, starting soft and gentle. As the kiss grew deeper and more urgent, he pushed Steve, careful and slightly hesitant, clearly giving him time to catch up. Steve didn’t need it, though. Never breaking the kiss, he settled on his back on the bed, tugging Tony with him so that he ended up straddling him. Having Tony’s weight on him and resting his hands on Tony’s hips was a familiar feeling, but Tony breaking the kiss to lose his shirt and pajama pants was new. Not that Steve complained, far from it.

”Are you sure?” Tony panted, ripping the shirt open and splaying his hand on Steve’s chest.

”Oh, God, yes,” he choked out. ”Yes, Tony. I’ve never been as sure of anything.”

”I’m going to blow your mind,” Tony promised. ”Like, totally. Blow. Your. Mind.”

The Highland Werewolf Lord did get something right: the passage to Heaven itself truly was in between Tony’s legs.

EPILOGUE // An indeterminate time later

The house was old and well-maintained, like from a picture book with the white windowsills and huge bushes of wisteria shadowing the front porch. Steve squared his shoulders, nodded to himself, and climbed a couple of stairs to knock on the door.

The woman who opened the door didn’t at all look like the person Steve had envisioned (then again, Steve wasn’t sure what a porn writer should look like). Sabina Hall was a gentle-looking elderly lady with silvery curls, a pearl necklace, and a cane. Her eyes were cloudy behind her lenses and she looked at least 85.

”Yes, dear?” She asked in a thin voice.

”Um, yes. Ma’am, my name is Steve Rogers, I emailed you a while ago about the Lusty Billionaire books?”

”Yes?”

”Ah, I was interested in purchasing one more volume.”

”That series ends in volume 25, young man,” she apologized.

”No, it doesn’t,” he said and showed Ms. Hall Tony’s book.

Her brows shot up. ”Where did you get that?”

”You wrote it as an auction prize to a certain Edward Stark,” Steve said. ”May I come inside, Ma’am?”

She gave him a long look before backing out of the way and beckoning him inside. He followed her into a cozy kitchen, waiting awkwardly by the door while she puttered around with the coffee pan.

”Sit down, dear,” Ms. Hall said. ”Have some coffee.”

”Thank you, Ma’am,” Steve said and sat awkwardly on the old chair, hoping it wouldn’t break under him. 

Ms. Hall poured coffee into small, rose-decorated cups and set a plate with dark brown slices of that smelled of cardamom in front of Steve. Then she sat down herself, took a sip of her coffee, and said, ”Now, tell me where you got that book.”

Steve took a breath and then looked the old lady in the eye. ”I know this sounds preposterous but…do you know who I am?”

She cocked her head. ”Should I?”

”Do you know who Captain America is?” The look he received was quite flat so he nodded and continued, ”And I presume you know who Iron Man is. See…there’s this one thing that isn’t quite public knowledge yet.” He dug out his cellphone and scrolled the pictures for that one, specific photo he’d taken with his phone in the morning a couple of days ago. They were still in bed, Tony with his hair sticking out in every direction and Steve’s jaw showing stubble. Steve was grinning at the camera but Tony was looking at him instead, wearing a soft, sleepy smile.

”You look rather happy. Both of you,” Ms. Hall pointed out. ”I’m still not sure why you are here, though.”

”I’d like to order one, final book.”

Ms. Hall gave him a curious look. ”Why?”

”Your book—this book—was what brought us together. I’d like a palpable reminder that I’m not going anywhere.”

”That’s awfully romantic, dear,” Ms. Hall said with a beatific smile. She fell silent for a moment and then sighed. ”Oh, why not? I miss my boy anyway. Do you have any special wishes for the characters or the plot?”

Steve nodded. ”Indeed I have.”

Steve almost couldn’t contain himself when Tony stumbled into the kitchen and made a beeline to the coffee maker. He drank the first cup with his eyes closed, the coffee still so hot it must burn his mouth. The second cup took a bit more time but Tony didn’t sit at the table yet, choosing to lean against Steve who was making pancakes.

A short moment later, Tony made a sad, whiny sound when he realized he was out of coffee again, making grabby hands at the coffee maker. Steve huffed a laugh, steered him to sit at the table, and set a fresh cup of coffee and a stack of pancakes in front of him.

It took Tony a moment to process what else was on the table but it was okay. Steve knew Tony didn’t properly wake up until his third cup of coffee and kept making pancakes.

He heard a gasp and then a bewildered, ”Steve…what is this?”

”What does it look like?” He asked calmly and turned around.

”The Lusty Billionaire's Soldier From The Past,” Tony read aloud slowly. When he opened the cover, his breath caught.

Steve didn’t need him to read it aloud. He remembered it just fine. 

To Tony,

The conclusion to the series.

I love you,

Steve